The young man thought he would faint if he did not escape the crowd that had rapidly grown to a curious mob. The sight of a very flushed youth, holding the limp female figure in his awkward arms, scantily clad, beautiful face impassive, instead of exciting sympathy, brought forth only mirth at his clumsy attempts to withdraw. Evidently such an experience had never occurred to the embarrassed youth before, but he rallied and finally reached the door.
As he started through, carefully, almost tenderly holding the lovely form, the delicate crepe de chine underslip caught on the little glass doorknob; to his utter chagrin, he let go altogether, leaning against the framework of the door; this was too much!
Wildly he thought of abandoning his duty, when the stern voice of a very dapper, wax-mustached, and excited gentleman who forced his way through the door, brought him up with a jerk.
“What ees the matter with you?” almost shrieked the head floorwalker of “The Elite Modes” shop. “Look, look!” he cried, gesticulating wildly, “worse than ze bull in ze china-closet! Go back to where you belong, and stay there!”
The new window dresser of “The Elite Modes” gave one look at the broken nose of the wax window-model which he had dropped, and fled—back to his old love, the gingham department!
* * *
“It is forty years since my husband even kissed me,” complained a woman in Hennepin county divorce court.
There is much pathos in that “even.”
* * *